


Hetju saga á dáuðastundu

by nuclearsafetydance



Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, M/M, Other, Pregnancy, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearsafetydance/pseuds/nuclearsafetydance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Þorfinn returns from a gathering to find out that something horrible has happened to his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hetju saga á dáuðastundu

-

 _I rest in my blood_  
_Soon I will face the gods_  
_Strangers cry for me_  
_I wish they'd let me be_  
  
_Show no sympathy_  
_Shed no tears for me_  
_I know who I am_  
_I am an evil man_  
("The Hero" - Amon Amarth) 

-

A man was called Þorfinn. 

His father was Gunnlaugr who was the son of Illugi, the son of Gormr Akason who had been a powerful man in Norway before King Harald. Þorfinns mother was called Ásgerð and was the daughter of Gnup Gnupsson.

Þorfinn was a rich man and very powerful, bigger and stronger than even his father had been in his youth, and of quick temper. It was said of him that he could eat and entire ox and drink a whole barrel of mead and still swing his sword with such fury that no man would dare try and face him.

He had long, brown hair and pale eyes.

Þorfinn was married to Jófríð, daughter of Hrafn, who was the son of Hermundr, son of Gunnlaugr. Jófríð‘s mother was unknown and no one had ever asked about her. Jófríð was an honest and hard-working woman.

Þorfinn and Jófríð had many children, but only a few of them are mentioned in this saga. Their oldest daughter was called Þurid and after her came their son Geirr and their son Skúli.

It was the fifteenth summer since their wedding when Jófríð noticed something changing.

Þorfinn had gone for the Þing and wouldn't return until the matters there would have been settled. Still she knew that even if her husband had been with her instead, she wouldn't have been able to talk to him about it.

It was a feeling that she couldn't explain and that her maids quickly chalked up to her pregnancy lasting well beyond anything they considered normal. But Jófríð knew it had nothing to do with it. It was instead a sensation that encompassed her whole body, as if she was losing a layer of skin. And no matter how many times she stood in her bedroom rubbing at her arms and legs to reassure herself that everything was in its right place, she could still feel it. Whatever it was, it was falling from her in large tatters, and she didn't know how to stop it.

And so it was that when she felt her time nearing at the first light of dawn, she wrapped herself in her travelling cloak and left the house, hurrying through the forest with the tightness in her belly pushing her onward.

The cave was cold and unwelcoming, but she knew she could only delay it for so long.

There was no time left to make a fire.

So she curled up on her cloak, allowing herself to groan as the pain washed over her, then whimper and scream when the child forced its way out of her body. The moment it took its first breath of cold air and let out a long, piercing shriek, she knew something wasn’t right.

Shaking heavily, Jófríð steadied herself on her elbows and looked at the creature writhing on the bare ground in between her legs. Although covered in blood and dust, it was obvious that it was not of human descent. Its skin was of a dark blue and its golden eyes shone like bright coins even in the darkness of the cave. It was still screaming, sucking in gulps of air through its black lips, and the familiarity of seeing the little chest rise and fall the same way as on all of her children before pulled her mouth into an involuntary smile.

Taking it into her arms was about the worst thing she could do, there was no future for this one after all, but she couldn’t help herself.

For a long moment, she sat there on her blood-soaked cloak, cradling the child against her chest, and soothed its tears, softly caressing its cheeks and belly.

By the time the pain came again, she had made her decision.

-

When Þorfinn returned from the Þing, the barnyard was eerily quiet.

The horses had started throwing back their heads, prancing and stumbling the moment they had passed the gate, and wouldn't calm down even under the hands of the most skillful stable boy. They had made enough noise to announce their coming to even the slaves working on the surrounding fields, yet no one came out to greet them, not even the children in their usual restlessness, demanding stories and sweets with begging hands and eyes.

The men gathered behind Þorfinn, whispering among themselves as he approached the house. They were doing their best to keep their voices low, and yet he caught the words that flew from one mouth to another. Curse. Then her name.

He pushed open the door to the long hall with both hands.

Inside the light was dim, barely passing through the grey cloths that covered the windows. The servants had gathered around the table, promptly diffusing the idea that their arrival had gone unnoticed. They eyed him with barely concealed fear.

"What is it with your silence?", he boomed, "are there no news to tell?"

He saw them exchanging glances, but no one seemed willing to answer.

Finally, one of the nursemaids stepped forward, her shaking hands buried in the folds of her skirt.

"My lord, it seems unfitting to us to speak in such times when the dark has gathered around this house and taken from us our brightest light."

He didn't understand until they took him to the bedroom. There she lay still as death, her frail body disappearing in the furs they had wrapped her in. He couldn't remember her being this thin when he had left her, her cheekbones this sharp under her grey skin. The linen around her head was covered in reddish stains. When he held out his hand to stroke her face, he could feel the faintest hint of breath ghosting over his fingers.

"It was the wolves, my lord", the maid said quietly, "we didn't know they had come this close already... and that they would dare to come at us during the day. But they did. And it was when your youngest son was out in the yard with his mother. We... I don't know how he could have gotten this far from the house, he was still on the doorstep when I turned my back on him. And then I heard them."

Her eyes widened as if she was seeing them again, but he knew it was not the wolves she feared now.

"I will swear to the gods, my lord, that I didn't see them coming. None of us did. Yet there they were , three of them. Monsters, my lord. Beasts with glowing eyes and fangs as sharp as knives."

His gaze flickered back to Jófríð's face.

"I will see to your punishment later", he said, surprised at the calmness of his voice, "but what of my son? Did you leave him behind for the beasts to feast upon so you could get away?"

"No, my lord. He is alive and well. Your wife, she threw herself in front of him before they got to him. She fought them all at once, with her bare hands, while they tore at her flesh and broke her bones between their teeth. And when she couldn't stand anymore, she shielded him with her body until the men were able to slay them. She was barely breathing when we carried her back into the house. And..."

She hesitated, not sure if she could dare to continue.

"And what?"

"It seemed like from that moment onward, she wasn't the same anymore. She didn't recognize any of us, my lord, not even the son she had given her own life for. She kept asking where she was and how she had gotten here. She seemed to have no memory of ever living in this house. Her husband's name was as foreign to her as her own."

Þorfinn felt a cold shiver taking hold of him, nestling deep into his bones.

"Can you show me the bodies of the wolves?"

The maid looked up, surprise written across her face at his strange request.

"They were thrown in the ditch beyond the fields, my lord. I can show you the way there. It might be wise to take some of the men with you. We don't know if there are more of them in the woods."

He nodded, calling four of the men still waiting in the hall to his side as he followed the maid towards the front door and out into the yard.

They walked in silence, the men tightening their hold on their weapons the closer they got to the edge of the forest.

The stench of blood and burned fur reached him long before he finally saw the creatures that had come down upon his family. They were enormous, even in death, their dead eyes glaring up at him from beneath half-closed lids. Blood and ash was smeared in their pelts, and there was blood on their teeth and on their tongues hanging limply from their jaws.

Þorfinn motioned for the men to stay back before he climbed down into the trench himself.

As he carefully approached the carcasses, he thought of Jófríð and her still body in the furs. How had she managed to hold herself against these beasts? How long had she had to suffer before the men had come to her aid? Not knowing what he was searching for, he began examining the body of the animal closest to him, slowly at first, but with growing anger when none of them showed any signs of awakening.

"Give me a knife!", he called to the men above him, and they handed him one. He buried it in the body of the same wolf, pulling it down its belly with all his strength. The men gasped in horror as a gush of steam emerged from the cavity before the entrails followed, dark blood soiling Þorfinn's arms and chest. He didn't hear them, didn't pay mind to the warmth surrounding him that should've been long gone from the cadavers.

His hands worked as if they had their own will, hacking and slashing through fur, muscles and bones until he was standing knee-deep in blood, the trench filled with the mangled remains of what had once been three wolves.

He threw the knife aside and gestured for the men to pull him up, suddenly feeling weaker than he had ever before. They obeyed, albeit reluctantly, and each of them seemed horrified to touch any part of him that was covered in blood.

When they followed the path through the fields back to the farmstead, a man passed them in the opposite direction, his steps light and unconcerned, red hair sticking out from under the hood of his travelling cloak. He glanced at him with eyes so terribly, impossibly familiar that Þorfinn stumbled and almost fell, only catching himself at the last moment. He was about to stop him, to ask him where he was going, but when he turned around to call him back, he saw nothing but his own men and the empty path behind them. Yet he was sure it had been _her_ eyes looking at him from the stranger's face, her eyes in a face he had never seen before.

Then he heard the cries coming from the house, the sobbing of the children and the lamentation of the women.

Jófríð was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> ehm yes, this is what I spent my afternoon with when I should have been studying for my russian exam and continuing to prepare my presentation about the norwegian orthography reform. oh well.
> 
> this story was partially inspired by the song "the hero" by amon amarth, though it doesn't really match the topic of the song itself. my mind just wandered down strange paths when i started thinking about some of the lines, and met a certain god along the way. the other part comes from a text i read (and don't remember where) about orphans in norse lore claiming that their mother had been Loki in disguise (who apparently would just come to earth, start a family with some farmer and then disappear after a few years) and that their father had left them as soon as he had found out about the true nature of his wife. if someone knows where i could find that information again, i would be incredibly happy.
> 
> i tried to stick to the basic form of an icelandic saga with this one and mix in some more modern elements, and i hope i was successful.
> 
> kudos to whoever manages to find the shoutout to the jómsvikinga saga, though it is pretty easy to miss, i guess. oh, and the title translates to "saga of the hero in his hour of death".


End file.
